


In a Far Off Place

by Timeboundpythia



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Past Lives, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 03:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timeboundpythia/pseuds/Timeboundpythia
Summary: When she enters the Akadaemia, there isn’t a soul who doesn’t know who she is.





	In a Far Off Place

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for Shadowbringers.

i.

When she enters the Akadaemia, there isn’t a soul who doesn’t know who she is.

Murmurs follow her those first few weeks. She walks with her focus tipped towards the ground as others watch her pass them while they whisper of a lack of control and the sacrifice her father made for his child to keep her from expending aether and energy to the point of expiration.

The years have taught her well and there is no outward indication of anything amiss. If the plants in the hydroponic bays twist and twine higher when she laughs, it’s a forgivable lapse.

ii.

She seeks refuge in the levels dedicated to natural sciences, even after the rumours have died down. She seems most at home among flora and many scholars are willing to forgive her when she inadvertently interferes with their studies, if only because she inevitably makes them _better_ somewhere along the way.

He finds her in a laboratory that was Halmarult’s and has, without his notice, been given over to her, twirling with unbridled joy as flowers and vines in the rich, autumnal shades of her soul climb the walls. He knows they’ve not been approved and does not care.

iii.

Months pass.

“Persephone.”

She finally offers him her name on this third visit to his office, where she drops half a dozen files containing the latest concepts she has had approved down onto his desk, many of which he has already seen. He keeps her secrets and she keeps his, a gentle hand finding his shoulder as she looks down at the sprawling buildings sketched effortlessly before him.

Half of the concepts she’s brought with her already adorn the walls and ceilings of his designs. Neither can remember when they reached this arrangement that works so well.

“Hades.”

“I know.”

iv.

Her laboratory is one that they rarely use, primarily because it’s in no state to reside in for any great length of time, her organised chaos something he claims he finds distracting.

(It’s not the chaos he finds distracting.)

He sits at one end of the couch in his office, trying desperately to ignore the brightness of her gaze that her mask fails to conceal, her head in his lap and her fingers tapping at the design board she holds above her.

When he can bear it no longer, he simply removes his mask and waits.

She removes hers too.

v.

Over his heart rests the small band with its tiny fragments of her bright coral aether to match the one over hers that bears the smoky tones of his own, both concealed beneath their robes, much like any others who’ve chosen to spend their lives together. Some wear the rings as what they are, but many more consider doing so to be a crass display of affection meant for quiet, private moments and, if they are to lead, they are to set an example in this one thing when they have sidestepped the rules in so many others.

“Emet-Selch.”

“Kore-Soteira.”

vi.

“…Do you think I’ve… caused this?”

“No,” is free of doubt. “You have never once lost control—“

“But—“

“What occurred in your youth was the error of a child. You may be powerful, my love, but even you cannot influence events so far from the city.” He extends a hand towards her, watching as she sweeps back her sunset hair and fits her mask into its proper place. “Come. Lahabrea claims to understand what is causing these disturbances and we are duty bound to surrender the floor and be bored to tears.”

She lifts her hood and follows.

vii.

“There has to be another way.”

“We have exhausted all else. You know full well that tomorrow will find you outvoted, and for what?”

“For me to know that I didn’t stand by and agree that sacrificing so many to save ourselves was the right course of action!” she exclaims. “What’s living if I can’t live with myself for agreeing to what I cannot bear?”

“We have to survive to rebuild,” he declares. “To leave our people without guidance is morally—“

“Less morally sound than what you intend to do?”

“What would you have me say?”

“…I don’t know.”

viii.

She stays no longer than it takes for the Convocation to understand that she absolutely rejects their plan.

Desperation drives them to execute it anyway.

Their first meeting after the summoning of Zodiark ends with her swearing to fix him and his insistences that he is not – nothing is - broken. She keeps away after that and he only catches glimpses of her through the haze of what he’ll later come to understand as tempering.

The rumours start up again, that she’s a danger and always has been, and though he knows it isn’t true, soon he can’t remember why.

ix.

He finds her crumpled figure, near skeletal beneath her robes, amidst the fallen forms of those who have chosen to surrender their lives in the name of keeping Zodiark from requiring sacrifice upon sacrifice.

Cradled against him, she lifts open shadowed eyes as her aether continues to bleed freely from her.

He thinks it’s his name that she starts to form.

“H…”

Only it isn’t.

“…Hydaelyn,” she names her newest and last creation.

Already that _thing_ has leached the warmth from her soul, the faintest threads of sapphire woven through her and rapidly gaining ground.

Days later, the world shatters.

x.

What could history do but repeat itself?

There she’s fallen, trembling and fighting as the Light consumes and spills from her in uncontrolled bursts that have her retching.

The same inherent flaw. How foolish to believe that her precious Crystal would have lent her the smallest of graces. Oh, they say she has granted her gifts, her Echo among them, but only to make a puppet of her. The two of them now, weapons for their chosen.

The bitterness consumes him. He mocks her. Belittles her.

He cannot help her. His god will not permit it.

And nor will hers.


End file.
